


untitled

by tigriswolf



Series: autobiography [30]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Autobiography, Crying, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 11:03:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12793209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: Don’t bottle it up, my mother says.Cry, if you need to. Just cry.





	untitled

**Author's Note:**

> Written July 23, 2017

_Don’t bottle it up_ , my mother says.  
_Cry, if you need to. Just cry._  
.  
I wonder:  
If it happened a year earlier.  
If my roommate hadn’t moved in.  
If my roommate had spent the night at her boyfriend’s.  
If my roommate was sleeping in her room.  
If and if and if again.  
.  
I wonder:  
Will I ever stop expecting the worst?  
.  
_Don’t bottle it up_ , my mother says.  
_You’re not in the way,_ my mother says.  
_It’s not a hassle,_ my mother says  
about the insurance, about the cleaning,  
about the stuff piling up in her house,  
about buying so much stuff,  
about the things I thought I could keep  
and have finally realized I can’t,  
about all the work it takes to move back into my own space.  
(About two new cats.  
_It’s not a betrayal,_ my mother says,  
_to take care of two new cats._ )  
.  
I cried today.  
My mother working on putting up my curtains,  
my sister putting together bookcases,  
my brother-in-law installing the modem and router—  
Yesterday, my sister and my parents  
and my cousin and my uncle  
and two of my aunts  
helped me move most of my stuff into the apartment.  
The layout is flipped, from my first apartment.  
The rooms are opposite where they were, all of them.  
It’s an odd kind of déjà vu,  
but a welcome one.  
.  
I cried today.  
My family using their Sunday to help me  
and it felt like everything was going wrong,  
one thing after another piling up,  
exhausting and frustrating,  
and I just couldn’t.  
I couldn’t anymore.  
.  
There was a person in every room,  
the two bedrooms, the front room,  
so I hid in the bathroom.  
I hid in the bathroom,  
huddled on the toilet,  
closed my eyes,  
and I cried.  
As quietly as I could, I cried.


End file.
